


Blue

by kimtristh



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-29 01:08:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/999065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimtristh/pseuds/kimtristh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoilers for the Finale. Walter thinks of Jesse's eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Ярко-голубой](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1409173) by [Herber_baby17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herber_baby17/pseuds/Herber_baby17)



> This was for the kink meme, [prompt](http://brbakinkmeme.livejournal.com/521.html?thread=227081#t227081). 
> 
> It is very depressing, not very good (not trying to fish for compliments, I do think it is kinda sucky) and personally I can't look at it without crying so I truly can't improve it but it's there and I rly wanted to post. 
> 
> You might not be as weepy as I am but still warning for it! Thanks for reading xx

He laughs.

He laughs and his eyes sparkle. They are blue, bluer than the brand of poison that they share, bluer than the sky in the empty plains where they cook.

They have been together for two days, and they have cooked like never before, they have talked like never before and God, he loves him. He’s glad that now that his death is looming so close, so impossibly close, that he chose him as his partner. 

“C’mon!” he yells with his hand up high, and yeah, Walter White will high-five his old student. And the triumph is short-lived, and the idiocy of the kid obviously nearly killed them, but they made it out alive, and if it hadn’t been for that same boy, he would have not. 

When Walt remembers the way he laughs, he can almost forgive the idiocy. The things Jesse laughs at, god, it could make him weep how uncultured and dumb the boy is, but half of the time he can’t help but laugh. Yeah, that laughter, he hopes he’s laughing now.

The pain in his side is sharp, time is running low then.

He remembers the first time they kissed, it was quiet, and they were a little drunk, and maybe it wasn’t the best time but they did. After they parted Jesse exclaimed “Man, this is fucked up,” and Walt had wanted to smack him, but instead they just laughed. And even in the dark, even with death looming above them as always, his eyes sparkled and Walt could even make himself believe things would be okay.

He can still smell Jesse if he tries hard enough. Not the filth of earlier as he held him in the only way he could after all the things that happened, not the smell of weed, not the smell of meth. Jesse. His Jesse. The way he smelled as he cried in his arms, the way he smelled straight out of a shower underneath the soap, the way he smelled when they pretended not to kiss.

“Jesse,” he says the word out loud as he did thousands of times alone in New Hampshire. As if somehow calling for him would bring him back. Although he’s glad he’s gone, really, he’s glad. There is nothing good for the younger man in spending another second with him, but then, he is not that sure there ever was.

A pang of jealousy grips him behind his heart, will Jesse go back to Andrea? He was happy with her, maybe he should. Maybe he should go and be with her and with Brock and be a good man and maybe even have kids of his own one day. Kids with blue eyes and dusty golden hair. Kids who would never hear of the great Heisenberg.

When things were bad with Skyler he had thought about it. Just leaving with Jesse, move to some new place where they could just be two men, where they could adopt all the children Jesse could want. Where they could be good men, like Jesse wanted. But Walter White knew that was insane, impossible, so he shook it off his head and instead did the only thing he could do – anything and everything to not lose Jesse.

Blue flashes across the night and he can hear sirens. Truly not long now. 

He remembers how it felt to touch Jesse, what he tasted like. He remembers being inside him and his blue eyes brimming with tears because “That hurts like a bitch, Mr. White” before laughing in the midst of a groan of pain. He remembers the way his pupils dilated once he managed to find his prostate, while he whispered over and over ‘easy, son, easy’ while not being fully sure he would manage to make it good for the younger man. He remembers his eyes rolling back into his skull, the way he clung to him, the way he moaned so deeply it travelled down his own spine. He remembers. He hopes Jesse still thinks of that now and then. He smiles once more before he falls to the floor.

He thinks about all the things he has made, all the things he has loved and he can’t help but smile, because none of them are as beautiful as that stupid boy. 

He thinks of the things he has had, of the things he has done, and he laughs because none will ever be as pure as that ridiculous young man. Despite everything. Even despite him.

Because Walter White knows, he knows, that none of the things he has created, not the Blue, not the Empire, not Grey Matter, not even his children: nothing, no one, will ever be as his as Jesse.

And, if the last thing he did in this world was making sure Jesse got out alive, then he has done enough.


End file.
